Week 31: The Music Festival
The music of the mountains has a rich and storied history. Scottish and Irish settlers brought their musical traditions to the mountains when they moved into the region. Decedents of African heritage did the same, bringing what is perhaps the most iconic Appalachian instrument, the banjo, to these mountains. Sad ballads and that high, lonesome sound could be heard in the hills and hollers of the region for generations. And it was this traditional sound that the Peril County Music Festival sought to honor and preserve each and every summer.
Campers and trailers filled the parking lot of the fairgrounds this time every year as folks travel from as far aways as Oklahoma on their pilgrimage to one of the birthplaces of Bluegrass Music. Dozens of performers young and old would cross the stage over the course of three days at the end of July to celebrate the traditional sounds of the mountains. And for Donna Wooton, it had become one of her favorite weeks of the year. Her grandfather was a mandolin player, and some of her favorite memories were sitting at his feet, listening to him sing the old timey songs and watching him pick at his instrument so fast, she could hardly believe it. Donna knew her girlfriend, Lou, wasn’t as big a fan of this style of music, but she was grateful that they went together, anyway.
The first day of the festival was dedicated to neo-traditional Appalachian music, which is just a fancy way of saying that some young folks were gonna play in the old time way. Students from the nearby music school started off the day, playing familiar tunes like Wayfaring Stranger and Tom Dooley, songs that had been heard in these parts for over a century. Donna had made her base camp just to the left of the stage, with two large camping chairs and a big red cooler between them. Lou was sipping on an Ale-8 and eating a bologna sandwich when a group of teens wearing matching lavender suits with “Bass Boys” written in sequins on the back took the stage. The lead singer couldn’t have been much older than twelve.
“Good afternoon, Black Grass! We are the Bass Boys and it is our pleasure to be up here a pickin’ and a sangin’ for you’uns today. We’ll kick this ‘un off with my brother Bennie on the fiddle doin’ the old ‘Fisherman’s Hornpipe.’ A one and a two and a…”
The tallest member of the Bass Boys stepped into the single microphone and began sawing on an old fiddle. His brow was furrowed as he tore into the song. Donna recognized the tune and smiled. This was one of her favorite instrumentals. It was a fiddle tune, usually, but her Grandpa had played it on the mandolin several times for her, growing up. She looked over to see Lou playing Kandy Killer on her phone. “This is a good one,” she said, playfully hitting her partner on the shoulder.
Lou never looked up from her game. “So is this one. I’m about to find the clown!”
Donna rolled her eyes and sent her attention back to the stage. Bennie Bass had now stepped back and was chopping on his fiddle while one of the other brothers did a break on his guitar. After a few moments, the tall Bass brother stepped back to the microphone and began to play lead once again. The song was full of hope and wonder, Donna thought as she sat there, transfixed by the melody.
“You wanna corn dog? I want a corn dog.” Lou stood and patted her pockets, looking for cash.
Donna shrugged. “Would’t turn down some fried Oreo’s!” she said with a wide grin. Lou headed back toward the concession area as the song ended. For the next half an hour, the Bass Brothers played and sang songs of heartache, songs of coal miners, songs of nature and songs of Heaven. Donna made a point to take note of the folks sitting in the surrounding crowd. Even with a younger lineup for this part of the concert, the festival goers were mostly older folks who might remember the first or second generation of Bluegrass Music. She shook her head, disappointed.
Next on the stage were some very non-traditional Traditional Musicians. A pair of beautiful white women, one with dreaded hair down to her waist, the other’s head shaved to a bur, took center stage. Both sported elaborate tattoos on their bare arms, along with several facial piercings and gauged ears. The long-haired lady carried a beat-up guitar that was covered in stickers and scratches. Her compatriot carried a nondescript banjo. Behind them, a tan man wearing a dashiki and sunglasses sat behind a pair of bongo drums. Their final band member was a striking, muscular black man, dressed in leather chaps, a vest and a cowboy hat. In his hands, he held a standup bass.
The lady in dreads approached the mic. “Peace and blessings to you, beloveds. We are Borne on Broken Wings and it is our great pleasure to be on this journey with you today. This is not the land of our birth, but it is the land of our soul. Let us celebrate it together.” Her voice was melodic and peaceful, with an accent that was hard to place, but clearly wasn’t local.
Looking around the crowd, the older folks in attendance did not know what to think of the band about to perform, as they looked nothing like the bands that typically crossed the stage of a Bluegrass Festival. But their fears were assuaged when the young lady ripped into a fantastic claw-hammer riff on her banjo. As she played, the bass player began to join in, creating a haunting sound. And just as suddenly, the women started singing in a breathtaking harmony the opening lines of a very familiar tune. “Shady Grove, my true love. Shady Grove my Darlin’! Shady Grove, my true love. I’m going back to Harlan.” It was slower and richer than most renditions of this classic Appalachian tune, but Donna could feel that there wasn’t a soul in attendance that wasn’t captured by this amazing performance.
When the song finished, the crowd erupted into uproarious applause. These old folks might not have known what to make of Borne on Broken Wings at first appearance, but they were all converted fans after just one song.
Donna’s heart soared as the band jumped into their next song, a deconstruction of “The Cuckoo Bird” that somehow reached into her soul and tugged at her sense of nostalgia.
“You ok?” Lou asked as she sat back down in her chair. She carried a brown bag with dark grease stains seeping out the sides.
It took a moment for Donna to realize that tears were welling up in her eyes. She wiped them away, embarrassed. “Yeah. Fine. Just makes me think of Papaw, is all.”
“I get it, babe. No worries.” She leaned over and kissed the top of Donna’s forehead. “Got you a treat!” Lou reached into the grease-soaked bag and pulled out a paper tray of battered and deep fried cookies, dusted with powdered sugar.
Donna took the tray and shoved a fried Oreo into her mouth. “Oh my Gawd!” she moaned as it dissolved in her mouth. “These things are dangerous! I could eat a bucket full.”
Lou smiled and ripped open a packet of mustard for her corn dog. “These guys are pretty good,” she said, motioning to the band on stage.
Donna nodded. “I’ve not heard of them before today, but they are great.” She paused for a moment and leaned into her partner. “I really appreciate you coming to this with me. It means a lot.”
Shifting her corn dog from one hand to the other, Lou wiped the grease off of her fingers and took Donna’s hand into her own. “Babe, I’d go to a fartin’ contest if I got to go with you.” They both laughed. “Seriously. I know you didn’t like the horse show as much as I did and you never said one word about it.”
“I just know that this isn’t your type of music, so you coming and spending the day with me is just really special.” She squeezed Lou’s hand.
A sly grin spread across Lou’s face. “I mean, what’s not to love? I got a room-temperature corn dog with watery mustard on it. The sun is out and there’s a Bohemian Bluegrass band playin’ on stage in Black Grass, Kentucky. And I got my best girl with me. What more could I want?”
“I don’t know about your corn dog, but these cookies are freakin’ awesome!”
About ten feet in front of them, an elderly woman sitting in a motorized seat leaned onto her left butt cheek and ripped a raucous fart that lasted far longer that it had any right to. Donna’s eyes grew huge on her face as she starred at the back of this old lady on her Rascal. She then looked over to her partner, and they both began stifling their laughter. “Well, you said you wanted to go to a farting contest.”